


Ritual

by valerie1972



Series: Scenes from a Blight [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dark Ritual, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerie1972/pseuds/valerie1972
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staying in the castle wasn't an option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual

Nola turned and called Conn to heel. She walked through the halls, marveling at how familiar this castle had become to her over the course of the Blight. She could call to mind details of the tapestries and paintings here much more readily than those at Highever - except for the paintings of her parents. Those, she remembered with perfect clarity: the look on Mother’s face, the set of Father’s shoulders in his silverite armor, the slight curve of Father’s smile that said _fear my sword but do not fear me_ , the steel in Mother’s eyes that said _I am a lady but do not ever think that I am weak_.

Highever probably didn’t look anything like she remembered, now that Howe had done… whatever he did while he was there. He’d spent most of his time at Denerim, the better to show off his power, but she couldn’t imagine that he’d left the castle without doing his best to remove all traces of her family.

Walking while musing had led her to the front gates. The guards, though eyeing her curiously, opened them without a word when she nodded to indicate that she planned to travel through. She wasn’t sure if it was her own reputation that they expected to keep her safe, Conn’s presence, or the relative peace surrounding the keep, but whatever it might have been she was glad that no one attempted to stop her or insist that she bring a guard.

She and Conn walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, her boots and his claws clicking on the well-worn cobbles of the path. She looked over the lake and sighed. It was beautiful in the moonlight. Alistair had commented on it more than once. She picked up a stone and tested it in her palm, wondering if she could make it skip along the surface the way he had shown her. She tossed it in the air a few inches, catching it in her left hand and sliding it down to hold it with her thumb and fingers. She thought for a moment about the mechanics of it and then decided to just go with what had served her well with things like this: she stopped thinking about it and just swung her arm and released the stone with a flick of her wrist. The stone skipped once… twice… three times… then fell below the surface of Lake Calenhad with a _glump_.

 _Glump_ was a good word for how she felt right now.

Conn always knew when she was out of sorts and cocked his head at her, whining softly, questioning. She sat down heavily on the stone bench beside the path and flung her arms around his neck and emptied her sorrows into his fur. He stood still, absorbing the tears of the woman as readily as he had absorbed the tears of the girl she used to be. The familiar velvet of his ear against her cheek eventually brought her back to the world before her, just in time to become aware of how long she’d been gone from the castle.

When she dried her eyes on her handkerchief and looked about herself to be sure no one had seen her in this moment of weakness, a dark shape approached from the direction of the main castle gate, weaving slightly back and forth along the path.

She didn’t know if she wanted it to be Alistair or not.

She couldn’t blame him for what he’d just done, certainly; especially not after she’d had to beg him to accept in the first place. Apologizing to him seemed foolish as well - she had already done that many times before they’d gone to tell Morrigan their decision.

How, exactly, _do_ you greet the man you love after he has sex at your request with a woman he hates?

How does he greet his betrothed when he’s just conceived the child with someone else that they may never be able to have together, but only did it to save his beloved’s life?

Alistair sat heavily beside her on the stone bench and looked out at the lake without greeting her. He smelled of sandalwood and wool and whisky; she silently thanked the Maker that he’d bathed before he joined her.

“M’not going to be a very good conver… conver… talker because I. Am. Druuuunk,” he declared, digging a hole in the packed dirt with the heel of his boot. Then he took a long pull from the flask that he held so firmly that his knuckles were white. “I kind of hope that if I get reeeeeeeeally drunk I won’t ‘member aaaaany of this.”

He turned to her then, and his face lit up. “I have a greeeeat idea!” He raised the liquor in her direction. “Get druuuuuuunk with me! Maybe we’ll boooooth forget, and then we don’t have to feel terr… terr… bad about this ever again!”

Perhaps it was that the tension hadn’t lasted a second longer than it had to or the knowledge that he truly hadn’t enjoyed what she’d asked him to do. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was over. Whatever the reason, she let out a snort and a laugh at the logic and the cheerful way he’d said it.

How in the world had he managed to find one of the only possible ways to make her laugh after such a horrible few hours?

Whatever the cause of the miracle, she took his chin between her hands and kissed him, hard. “Thank you.”


End file.
